


dying to see you, one last time

by guardianoffun



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Graphic Description of Corpses, M/M, Suicide, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:57:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/pseuds/guardianoffun
Summary: The end of the world hits Oxford. The undead are rising and nobody's prepared. Time to say some goodbyes.





	dying to see you, one last time

**Author's Note:**

> wow will i ever stop... no. no i wont. im not even sorry, i think every fandom needs its depressing zombie fic. okay maybe im a little sorry. 
> 
> this is kinda bloody and gory im sorry for that so like, turn away if descriptions of corpses and injuries aren't ur thing. 
> 
> PLEASE heed the tags tho, I don't usually write such dark stuff and i'd hate to upset anyone for reals.
> 
> also warning i overuse commas a lot lol
> 
> endless thanks to imaginationtherapy for screaming at me about this over the like 24 hours i wrote it, without you i would have never made this as terrible as it is! thank you and sorry for breaking your heart

The day the world ended, Endeavour Morse was at work. He never doubted he would be anywhere else, in all honesty. And in fairness, saying the world had ended may have been an overstatement. The world itself was still very much intact, it was the people falling apart. It had started somewhere in London, where else? At first it had been blamed on some new drug, then they were calling it an illness, and then when half the city had fallen into chaos they finally admitted it was the end of days. The red alert hit Cowley’s radio late one afternoon in July, and for a moment or so, there was silence. Officers you see, were calm in a panic. 

Then there was the scraping of chairs, all at once. Bright appeared in the doorway, and simply nodded. He understood if people wanted to go home. Who knew how long they had before the undead of Oxford were climbing from their coffins. He himself, he would wait for his men to leave, before he made his way home, and held his wife’s hand for a long, long time. He catches the arm of an officer about to leave. The only two men in their cells right now are unconvicted petty thieves, he has them released. It just seems right. 

It doesn’t take long for the station to empty out. Maybe better officers would have stayed, upheld the peace even in the end but nobody wants to do that not really. 

Jakes heard the repeated mayday alert on the radio as he clambered back into the car. He’d just been questioning a witness to a break in, and meant to head for the suspect’s house next, but suddenly that seemed less important. He had a station to get back to.

Thursday walks to Morse’s desk, tie loose, and eyes red.

“Win’s at home,” he says, voice thick.

“But Joan, Sam, they’re-“ he cannot find the words. Morse understood. Joan had moved out a few months ago, Sam was in barracks. He had to find them, there was no question.

Morse stood, held out a hand. 

“You’ll find them sir.” Thursday glanced at his hand, and then grabbed at it, pulling Morse to his chest.

“Stay safe Endeavour,” he says into his hair. Morse feels his eyes sting.

“You too Fred.” 

They part, both pretending they’re not wiping at their eyes. Thursday picks his hat off the desk and nods.

“See you around,” he says with all the confidence he has. Morse watches him leave, the setting sun casting his shadow all the way across the room.

Soon, there’s only him, Strange and Bright. Jakes has radioed, says he’s coming back to the station. He should only be thirty minutes but who knows what state the roads will be in. Bright glances around the station, then to his watch. He stands. 

“Gentlemen,” he says, and he doesn’t need to finish. He doesn’t even pick up his case, he simply moves to the door.

“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” he says, smiling tightly. He lights a cigarette, and makes his way towards the door.

Strange glances at Morse from his desk, then ducks his head, reappearing a moment later with a bottle of rosé from the drawers in his desk.

“Was meant to be Trewlove’s birthday present,” he says by way of explanation. They both take a minute to be glad the WPC and her fiance are on a long weekend in Paris. The creatures haven’t reached mainland Europe yet.

Morse smiles, and goes to pull a couple of glasses from Bright’s office. They share a few laughs about drinking wine from whiskey glasses, sitting on their desks as the last rays of sunlight trickle through the window.

Morse goes quiet, and then thinks.

“Strange, haven’t you got people you want to see? This could be your last night,” he says, all too sober despite the wine. Strange downs the last of his glass and shrugs.

“Can’t think of a better way to go matey.”

Morse takes a moment to be touched, the silence warm between them. The sit together, reminiscing over drinks as the evening approaches. Twilight has been and gone when piercing scream finally arrives. Oxford has fallen.

* * *

Jakes presses a hand to the doors of the station, and it falls open with a clang. The sound of the hinges giving out echo through an empty corridor. In one loud crash the whole thing falls to the floor, glass panels shattering around his feet. Unease settles heavy in his chest, as he picks his way across the threshold. It’s quiet in here, too quiet. There’s something on the wall too, something smeared about shoulder height and with a sick swirling feeling Jakes realises it’s blood streaked along the wall. It trails off, curving down, down, and down to the figure slumped on the floor. Shit, Jakes knows who it is before he even gets close, he know it’s Strange, of course it’s Strange. He still has to check though, be sure that Strange is just  _ Strange _ , and not one of those monsters.

Hand on his pistol, he reaches for Strange’s shoulder. Lifeless, his body slumps over, his throat torn open and chest ripped open. Jakes heart stops for a second as visions of Strange’s corpse reaching for him flicker through his mind. Thankfully Strange stays dead, and Jakes feels awful for even thinking that, but he’s not sure he could put a bullet between Jim’s eyes. He feels his throat tighten as Strange’s glassy eyes stare up at him, and tears falling as he reaches to close them. If he could speak, he would say goodbye.

Then there’s a moan, from another room, and Jakes is forced to tear himself away from Strange. Fear runs like ice through his veins because he knows that voice. He knows every noise Endeavour Morse can make, and that’s not one he had ever needed to hear. Jakes doesn’t even realise he’s running until his leg collides with someone’s abandoned desk, and he topples to the floor beside Morse’s desk. He groans, hand rubbing at his head, and he tries to push himself upward.

Then he spots a foot, poking out from behind the desk. He clambers to his knees, and he can see another. Suddenly Jakes can feel his heart in his throat.  _ No, no it can’t be, he can’t be. _

He almost doesn’t want to look, because if he doesn’t look, there’s nothing there. But he has to. He inches forward on his hands and knees, arms trembling. 

“Morse?” he whispers, because who knows if those creatures are still around. There’s no answer. Jakes doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he rounds the corner and he can’t see for tears. He blinks them away, and wishes, wishes he fucking hadn’t.

Morse is almost blue, he’s gone so pale. His mouth hangs open, a trail of something dark on his chin. There’s a gaping hole in his neck, blue veins curling outwards up that beautiful face, down his neck and past his collar. Hands are curled around a pen, and there’s scraps of paper all over the floor but Jakes doesn’t have time to read. He lets out a sob, as he grabs Morse’s shoulders, pulling him to his chest.

“Morse, fuck, no, please don’t be, I’m sorry-” he doesn’t even know what he’s saying ,what he  _ wants  _ to say, he just doesn’t want this, he can’t do this. His chest feels like it’s on fire, he can barely breathe and then Morse lets out the most heartbreaking groan and Jakes has to swallow a scream.

“Peter?” Morse wheezes,the name dragged out and the syllables catching in his throat. Jakes nods, hand flying to Morse’s cheek.

“Y-yeah, Morse, it’s me, it’s Peter. I’m h-here,” he manages. Morse tries to smile, but he coughs up another mouthful of blood.

“Need’d… say goodbye,” he gurgles. Jakes shakes his head furiously.

“No, Morse, no- Endeavour  _ please _ .” He wants to wake up now, he wants this to be over, but it’s not, because it’s too real. Morse is clammy in his arms, he can feel blood seeping through his shirt, can hear the laboured breaths he’s taking just to speak.

Then there’s an almighty crack, and Morse’s back suddenly arches. He lets out an inhuman scream, and the sound cuts right through Jakes. Suddenly Morse is moving again, but there’s something off about it. His hands curl, his head jerks violently, it’s almost like a seizure, only…

Blood trickles from Morse’s nose and he lets out a groan.

“Peter, I’m sorry,” he says, before his back arches again, and blood explodes from his mouth. As he writhes in Jakes’ arms, he can see the dark veins are moving, spreading out. Wherever they go, Morse’s skin turns a deathly white. Jakes heart feels like it might stop altogether. Morse is becoming one of  _ them _ .

“H-help me Peter,” Morse all but whispers. Jakes hands caress his cheeks.

“I don’t know how Dev, I don’t- what do I do?” Morse was the smart one, wasn’t he? How was Jakes supposed to know, he couldn't do anything, he couldn’t stop this.

“Finish me,” he lets out before his body contorts again, and he slips from Jakes arms with a bang. When he growls this time, it’s more animalistic.

Peter’s head is shaking before he’s decided, and his lips move of their own accord.

“No, Morse I can’t. I won’t.” He couldn’t do it to Strange, he wouldn’t do it to Thursday, there’s no way in hell he’s doing it to Morse.

“We’ll find a cure Morse, go to DeBryn’s, or something?”

“I can’t fight this,” he screams, chest caving suddenly. For one terrifying second, his eyes glaze over, and there’s no Morse anymore, just emptiness. Then with a shudder, he reappears.  _ He’s stronger than he looks.  _ He lets out a sob, reaches a hand out for Jakes’ face.

“Please, y-you have to kill me,” tears mix with blood on his cheeks.

“I won’t become one of them Peter.” That voice, those eyes, he could never refuse Morse anything. His hands find his gun and shaking fingers slide it from the holster.

He holds it between them, one hand on the gun the other holding Morse upright. His fingers freeze over.

“I can’t.” He whispers. “Morse I can’t.”

“Oh Peter,” Morse says, softly. “I love you.” With a sudden strength he wraps his arms around Peter, presses his lips to his, and feels the gun slip from Jakes grip. It’s all too easy to pick it up, press the barrel to his chin, and once Jakes pulls back, Morse pulls the trigger.

Jakes ears ring. His face drips, with tears or maybe it’s blood, both perhaps. The ringing fades out, and the room is quiet, too quiet. The only thing he can hear is his own breathing, great shuddering gasps. He’s sobbing into Morse’s chest, he realises, into his still, unmoving chest. He tries to look up but he can’t. He cannot look at Morse, brains blown out across the carpet. He won’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Morse I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sorry he wasn’t there sooner. Sorry he had to watch Strange die alone. Sorry he had to lie here, sorry he had to suffer the agony of his own body fighting him, sorry he’s dead. Sorry he didn’t have the strength to do it himself.

As gently as he can with arms that feel like lead, he lowers Morse to the ground. Lies him out, arms crossed at his chest. He pulls off his jacket, folds it into a pillow he can press to the hole in his head. And then he collapses. Like his strings have been cut, he slumps over beside his… colleague? lover? Boyfriend? Morse. His Morse.

It’s then when his eye catches on one of the scraps of paper that’s fallen under the desk. Ink splatters the page, in that all too familiar scrawl.

_~~Peter, in case we never~~ \-  _ it ends there, a line through it. There’s another scrap, beside it so he grabs that one.

_~~Jakes I have to tell you~~ \-  _ that one is struck through too. He finds another.

_ I love you Peter -  _ that one isn’t crossed through but it’s crumpled. There are countless notes, written on the backs of reports or corners of newspapers. Like Morse has spent his last hours trying to tell him something. Slowly, Jakes sits up. He reached for piece after piece, each a line or two. Then he finds one, slightly neater than the rest, on the back of an index card.

_ I don’t know how to say it Peter. I don’t have the words, so I hope you don’t mind I borrowed a few. _

_ Who will believe my verse in time to come, _

_ If it were filled with your most high deserts? _

_ Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb _

_ Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts. _

_ If I could write the beauty of your eyes, _

_ And in fresh numbers number all your graces, _

_ The age to come would say 'This poet lies; _

_ Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.' _

_ So should my papers, yellowed with their age, _

_ Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, _

_ And your true rights be termed a poet's rage _

_ And stretched metre of an antique song: _

_   But were some child of yours alive that time, _

_   You should live twice, in it, and in my rhyme. _

Jakes stares at the words for a while, savouring the way the letters curl across the page, capturing some of the last of Morse’s movements.

He reads every single note, over and over, by the moonlight that is pooling around him. When his tears finally run dry, his throat raw and nose running, he falls into an empty slumber, one last note tucked in his hand.

_ Stay safe Peter Jakes. All my heart, Endeavour. _

**Author's Note:**

> thank u shakspeare for that dope ass sonnet, you the man. 
> 
> AND never fear dear reader, if this has hurt your soul, i am confident SOMEONE may soon come along and fix that...[ I Dream of Zombie ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761983) and someone did!! thank you imaginationtherapy again for writing the fix-it fic to this disaster! 
> 
> but yeh lol i hope y'all enjoyed! please let me know your thoughts it'd be great to hear <3


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